


Smoke Rings and Cigarettes

by Accidental_Ducky



Series: Sparks and Lightening [6]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Reincarnation, Sheriff Stilinski Knows About Werewolves, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Supportive Peter Hale, shadowhunters au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 16:21:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18525178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Accidental_Ducky/pseuds/Accidental_Ducky
Summary: It was beginning to seem like the one person Stiles really wanted to see again would never be reborn, but then he walked past the Sheriff’s station one afternoon and heard a laugh that made his chest ache and his eyes sting. Peter and Alex don’t even notice that he stopped until he lets out a choked sound, brown eyes fixed on the town’s new Sheriff, the one with dark blond hair and laughing blue eyes.“Stiles,” Peter murmurs when he and their son get back to his side. “What is it? Who’s that man you’re looking at.”“My father,” Stiles rasps, tears blurring his vision. “My father’s back.”





	Smoke Rings and Cigarettes

Stiles had often re-met some of his old friends through the years thanks to reincarnation, always thrilled when those relationships seemed to pick up where they’d been left off before. Take Scott McCall for instance, he’d been one of Stiles’ closest friends growing up, had never once feared the magic Stiles could wield with ease and he’d helped get the other boy out of trouble on numerous occasions.

Stiles found him again in Beacon Hills, a True Alpha and thus safe from the asthma that had taken him out of Stiles’ life too soon before. They met outside Deaton’s clinic and hugged for a good twenty minutes before ever registering that an old woman with an angry poodle was trying to get inside for an appointment. Turns out that, ‘wolf or not, Scott still blushed when yelled at by gray-haired women with a tendency to hit young people with canes.

He’d met a few others like that too, some good and others evil (he still swore that the gods had it out for him when Harris showed up in an ice cream shop and immediately knocked the container of sprinkles right out of Stiles’ hand before walking out).

It was beginning to seem like the one person Stiles really wanted to see again would never be reborn, but then he walked past the Sheriff’s station one afternoon and heard a laugh that made his chest ache and his eyes sting. Peter and Alex don’t even notice that he stopped until he lets out a choked sound, brown eyes fixed on the town’s new Sheriff, the one with dark blond hair and laughing blue eyes.

“Stiles,” Peter murmurs when he and their son get back to his side. “What is it? Who’s that man you’re looking at.”

“My father,” Stiles rasps, tears blurring his vision. “My father’s back.” Peter follows his gaze, letting out a slow breath as he spotted the few similarities. Stiles took after his mother in looks, but his personality was nearly identical to his fathers with a more flexible moral code.

“Go and talk to him.” Stiles thinks on that for a minute then decides to hell with it and marches in with Peter following behind him. John and the deputy he was talking to both glace up when Stiles stops in front of them, the younger man offering up a smile.

“Sheriff, this was the young Warlock I was telling you about,” Jordan says. “It’s nice to see you guys again.”

“You too, Jordan,” Peter responds when the words stick in Stiles’ throat. He just wants to drag his father into a hug, John always gave the best hugs and Stiles hasn’t felt one in so long. “Sheriff, my name is Peter Hale. I run the local pack alongside the McCall boy.”

“John Stilinski,” John greets, shaking Peter’s hand with a kind smile. “And that must make you Stiles.” He holds out a hand for Stiles to shake and the lack of recognition in his eyes is like the feel of Malphas’ talons raking down his back all over again. Stiles has to force himself to shake John’s hand, unable to control the way it was shaking or how his glamour faltered for a split second to reveal the horns curling up from his forehead.

“You know, I think I should get my mate home. He’s been feeling off all morning and only came to town because I asked.” Before anything worse could happen, Peter steers Stiles out of the station and to their car down the block. “It’s alright, Stiles, just give him time to remember.”

“They don’t always regain their memories,” Stiles tells him bitterly. “My biological father controls several memory demons and he takes joy in hurting me.”

***

It’s surprisingly easy for Stiles to avoid his father considering the fact that Beacon Hills isn’t exactly a big town. Of course, that doesn’t stop him from diving behind a pyramid of cereal boxes when he nearly runs into the man at the Rite Aid and _of course_ John comes around the corner and gives him the concerned-confused stare of a man trying to figure out if he actually wanted to know something.

“Uh, you okay, kid,” he asks, brows drawn together. It’s an expression Stiles remembers well from when he was a child, usually reserved for when Stiles was acting squirrely (and once when he had a literal squirrel hidden in his wardrobe).

“Yeah, I just—” Stiles flails and grabs a box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch from the top of the pile. “Alex loves these.”

“Uh-huh.” John doesn’t even look halfway convinced, but he doesn’t say anything else as he continues to walk down the aisle. Stiles shakes his head, tossing the box into his cart and then moving on to get the toaster Peter had actually sent him to the store for.

***

“You gotta talk to him at some point,” Scott says three months later. “If you don’t, then he’ll never even get the chance to remember you.”

“I can’t do it, Scotty. Alright? It just… It’ll hurt too much if I try and he still doesn’t remember me.”

***

Stiles doesn’t have pleasant dreams very often, not since his little field trip to Hell with a group of Shadowhunters, Magnus, and an extremely pessimistic vampire that now owed Stiles a life debt after he saved his undead ass. The point is, Stiles has nightmare after nightmare and for him to have a nice dream threw him off his rhythm.

It was centuries ago, back when the Dead Sea was just a lake that was feeling a little poorly, and his father was settled in his armchair. Stiles was small, maybe seven and just starting to learn how to control his magic. John didn’t mind the occasional fire, or their cat being turned into a small goat every now and then, always patient as Stiles tried his best to fix whatever he’d caused.

_Stiles was seated at John’s feet on the carefully woven rug his mother had made, little fingers twitching in his lap as he watched his father blow smoke rings. He loved watching the blue-tinted smoke drift and curl up to the ceiling, a twisting dance like a snake amongst grass._

_The next time John makes a ring, Stiles focuses on it until he feels the sparks at his fingertips, letting out an excited cheer when the smoke twists into a dragon and zips right through their mantle. “I did good,” he asks, beaming up at his father._

_“Very good,” John agrees, leaning down to ruffle Stiles’ hair. “Do you think you can do it again, Mały Lis?” Stiles nods almost violently, fingers glowing dimly as John takes in another puff from his pipe. This time Stiles changes the smell and color, a vivid pink carrying the scent of fresh strawberries. John swoops him up in his arms and spins him around, laughing at the control Stiles was showing. “Fantastic!”_

_“Papa,” Stiles giggles, his little hands coming up to rest against his father’s cheeks. “You do it?” John settles back in his chair with his son in his lap, running a gentle finger of the tiny horns that were just starting to curl._

_“No, sweet boy, your papa doesn’t have magic like you do. It’s a gift from the Angel.” Stiles frowns at that, playing with the buttons along the front of his father’s shirt. It wasn’t fair that his papa couldn’t have magic. His papa’s the best man in the whole world, he should be allowed to change things like Stiles can._

_“I make the Angel give you magic when I’m older,” he swears, turning big brown eyes up to his father. “I’ll teach you like you’re teaching me.”_

_“I’d love that.”_

When Stiles wakes up the next morning with tears drying on his cheeks, he’s got a plan on how to make his papa remember.

***

The plan is a simple one, just a few tricks to trigger a dormant memory in John that has him pulling Stiles in for the world’s best hug. Coincidentally enough, Stiles has taken to calling it Operation Snuggle and he ignores Peter’s comment about him watching too much Once Upon a Time. That wasn’t a thing that was possible now that there was Captain Hook’s ass to admire on-screen.

It takes Stiles some time and twenty bucks at the local Rite Aid before the plan was ready to be set in motion. It started with Kira walking past the police station every day at three in the afternoon, sucking on one of those candy cigarettes at the precise time John came out for his lunch break.

Stiles might have done a little stalking in the planning phase. He might have also hacked the station’s main computer system to see the shift schedules. Danny stepped in and threatened to disconnect Stiles’ WiFi for the next three years if he didn’t stop with the bad hacking.

Scott’s part of Operation Snuggle takes place at seven every Tuesday evening when he walks by John with one of those kids’ pipes that blow bubbles. He also wears an ascot and smoking jacket, but that’s more for his own amusement than anything. On Wednesday mornings, Peter drops by the station with coffee for everyone and anecdotes from his and Stiles’ marriage.

Stiles himself continues to find random hiding places and the twenty-something girl that works at the Rite Aid is probably getting tired of seeing him throw himself sideways behind various displays of toaster ovens.

***

“Son, what the hell are you doing?”

“Uh… Fondling… Watermelons?” John heaves a sigh and walks off, leaving Stiles to his armful of watermelons and an overly judgy stock girl. Stiles thinks she might be from the Asian heritage club that Kira had started, but maybe he’s just dumb. “I’ll put these back.”

“Nope,” the girl says. “You fondle them, you buy them.”

***

On day one hundred and seventy-three, Stiles Stilinski-Hale has a breakdown in the park. He’d been on one of his walks to clear his head, certain by now that his papa would never remember him, and the pent-up emotions burst open like a dam. He’s sitting on the merry-go-round when he hears footsteps on the damp grass, but he’s too tired to so much as wipe the tears off his cheeks. He’s earned his right to cry, goddammit, and he’s going to do it no matter what person is creeping around town after dark.

The footsteps come to a stop just in front of him, worn-out sneakers giving way to a pair of gray sweats. Stiles can’t make himself meet the intruder’s gaze, but he can smell the tobacco, the sweet smell his papa had preferred, and he _knows_ who this person is. He can’t look up into those eyes and not see a shred of memory. He _can’t_.

John doesn’t say anything at first, just resting a hand on Stiles’ shoulder and squeezing. It’s a friendly gesture, but it’s not enough right now. Stiles wants a hug, a bone-crushing, love-you-more-than-life hug. But John Stilinski doesn’t remember that first life and Stiles has run out of ideas on how to remind him.

“Peter called me,” John says after a long moment. “He said I might find you out here.” Stiles sniffles, fingers shaking as they twist in the hem of his shirt. His anxiety is running on high gear, draining him more than it ever has before. He just wants to go home and make his mind shut up, he wants the bottle of green pills that makes him relax just a smidge.

“I’m sorry he called so late. He worries a lot.”

“He has every right to. I might be new to Beacon Hills but not to California.” Translation: _Everyone knows about the Hale fire and the way that two suspected Shadowhunters suddenly dropped off the map as soon as Peter and Derek were strong enough to act_. It’s not a threat, just a fact.

“You can go on home, Sheriff. I’ll be fine.” But John doesn’t let go of his shoulder, in fact he squeezes just a little bit harder like he can force some reassurance into Stiles’ bones. Stiles manages to lift his head to meet John’s gaze, blue eyes filled with the same worry that filled his own when Alex took his first wobbly step just three days ago. It’s a parental thing, one of those instincts that sink into you so deeply that they never leave.

“I’ll walk with ya.” Stiles nods and accepts John’s hand, letting the older man pull him to his feet. His legs are like jelly and he feels completely exhausted, the anxiety attack exacting its toll. He’ll never get used to this feeling. “You know, my son has anxiety too. I can have him call you when he comes home from college.”

Stiles sucks in a deep breath and lets it out in a shuddering rush, feeling like the Hulk had punched him right in the gut. His stomach curdles, chest tight as his breaths stutter in his throat. _Son?_

“His name’s Liam.” It hurts more than Stiles thought it would, like his heart is crumbling in his chest and the jagged shards are trying to cut their way out. “Stiles…?”

“I gotta go. Thanks for coming to find me.” He’s off and running before John can say anything else, not stopping until he’s at Scott’s house and wrapped in his bro’s arms. Scott doesn’t say anything, doesn’t need to. He just hugs Stiles tighter, and Stiles cries.

***

“You know why he doesn’t remember you, right,” asks Judgy Rite Aid Girl. Stiles glances up from the box of printer ink he’s been studying, finding her standing three feet away. She’s pretty, her long hair pulled up into a ponytail and her eyes outlined in gold.

“Excuse me?”

“The Sheriff. He doesn’t remember you.” Stiles blinks as the woman’s glamour falls to the wayside, her ears turning to points while her brown eyes change to a dark, muddy red. The uniform, which had been a little big to begin with, tightens around her shoulders and her skin transforms into a sickly shade of green.

“Wonderful, a fucking demon.” He tosses the box on the nearest shelf and turns to give the woman his full attention. He may not be fond of demons, but he’s smart enough to know that he can’t fight one on his own. That’s the job of Nephilim, Warlocks are just supposed to look pretty and make witty one-liners. “Let me guess, Malphas sent you.”

“I don’t work for your father, Mieczysław.” If he was a ‘wolf, he’s pretty sure his hackles would be rising at this point. “In fact, I’m a free agent with a grudge. Malphas killed my wife.”

“And what better way to get petty revenge than by helping one of Malphas’ children?”

“All of them, actually. Well, the ones that are still alive.” She shrugs, completely at ease in her natural form. There’s a faint stench of rotting things that wafts from her, like dying flowers in a nursing home. “You want your father back and I can give him to you.” She reaches into the pocket of her jeans and hands over a card reading _Sheriff John Stilinski (213) 555- 0760_.

“His card?”

“I worked my mojo on it, he’ll get his memories back the next time he touches it.” Stiles tightens his hold on it, simple cardstock possibly containing everything he’s ever wanted.

“Would something like this work on teenagers that used to be vampires?”

“Sorry, his memories were stolen by a different demon.” She looks him over one last time before she removes the too-tight vest and tosses it aside. “Well, I’m off. There’s a kid in Santa Clarita I’ve been meaning to visit. See ya later, Mieczysław.” And then she’s gone, a bit of green goop left on the floor where she’d been standing.

“Thanks….” He glances down at the nametag on the vest, running his thumb over it with a fond smile. “Never expected to get this kinda help from a demon named Ramona.”

***

John glances up when Stiles barges into his office without so much as a knock, blue eyes widening when the kid slams a card down on the desk in front of him. “How much do you know about reincarnation?”

“It’s nice to see you too, Stiles,” John says instead. “I’m doing good. I had a bacon cheeseburger last night and—”

“Those are bad for someone with a heart condition.” The Sheriff’s mouth snaps shut, eyes narrowing with something like suspicion. It just confirms what Stiles’ had already guessed, John’s still a human despite the traces of Raziel’s blood and that means his heart is still weaker than it should be.

“How do you know—”

“Pick up that card and I’ll tell you all about it.” John frowns, but he picks up the card all the same. Nothing happens at first, but then a zip of magic races through Stiles’ fingers and the card glows the faintest bit red. John lurches back in his chair, nearly overturning it, sucking in deep breaths as his eyes dart about wildly. It’s like he’s seeing something, muscles spasming in his arms and making his fingers twitch. 

It stops just as suddenly as it started, the card fluttering to the ground from limp fingers as John slouches down in his chair. His chin rests against his shirt, all the color drained from his face and eyes at half-mast. Magic takes a toll on Mundanes, so Stiles doesn’t worry too much about the background anxiety making his fingers clutch at the hem of his tee.

John’s breathing returns to its normal rhythm, then he’s flinging himself up out of the chair with enough force that it slams back against the wall. His arms are around Stiles before he can so much as twitch, a bone-crushing embrace that the warlock returns wholeheartedly. It’s exactly like Stiles remembers the hugs being; fierce protectiveness, whole-hearted love, and just _warmth_.

It makes something in his bones settle.

Makes him feel like he’s home.

***

It’s at a Fourth of July barbeque when Stiles meets John’s son. Liam Dunbar is average height with a competitive streak a mile long and eyes that go glow-stick-yellow when he feels protective. He talks a big game (and talks a lot in general, some things are purely genetic), he likes lacrosse, and he can binge-watch the special extended trilogy of Lord of the Rings without going to the bathroom once.

Stiles isn’t going to lie, he kind of admires the kid.

Peter, meanwhile, is complete enamored with Liam’s boyfriend the second the Shadowhunter begins to coo at little Alex. He might have said something about adopting Mason, but Stiles is hoping he just heard that wrong because there’s no more guest rooms left in their house.

“And that’s Scott,” Stiles says, pointing at his best bro. Scott is currently holding an insanely huge firework, chattering away to Kira and never noticing when one of Deucalion’s twins lights the fuse until it’s too late. Scott is left standing with the remnants of the firework in his hands, eyebrows singed right off his face. Ten feet away, Chris Argent falls off a picnic bench from laughing so hard.

“Wow,” Liam says. “He’s really unobservant for a Werewolf.”

“Yeah, I’m kinda the brain to his brawn.”

“So basically, we’re going to be sneaking a row of Black Cats into that kid’s shorts and then lighting them?”

“Oh yeah. Aiden’s had it coming for a while now.”

***

The barbecue ends with one trip to the hospital, two cursing twins, and Stiles and Liam’s banishment from the park.  

Totally worth it to see Aiden screech like a two year old, though.

**Author's Note:**

> Malphas is a mighty Great Prince of Hell, having forty legions of demons under his command and is second in command under Satan.  
> Mały Lis is Polish for ‘little fox’ according to Google Translate. Let me know if it’s wrong :)


End file.
